


first

by Quadrantal



Series: Box of Crayons [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward John Watson, Gen, Kidlock, Nursery School AU, Puppy Love, Sherlock Holmes - Intrepid Child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quadrantal/pseuds/Quadrantal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a little cruuuush. <i>Shut up, Sherlock!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	first

**Author's Note:**

> So my friend gave this prompt of “First” and this little thing is what came out of it. I have no excuse for writing a Nursery School AU, just that I think John would be really cute HAHAHA

John Hamish Watson, aged 6, is tremendously popular with the girls. During recess, they congregate by the swings, pointing and giggling like a cackle of hyenas. Sherlock wants to roll his eyes at the inanity of such displays; there are better things to do like solve the mystery of who took the last cookie (it’s Anderson, that liar; the crumbs are speckled all over his pants).

Today, however, there is a new girl who crouches by the sandbox, with a bright pink coat that matches the clips keeping her blonde hair back.

John peers at her from behind a tree, hand fisted against the wool of his jumper. “D’you think she knows my name, Sherlock?”

Sherlock doesn’t look up from the egg sandwich on the ground. He’s busy measuring the rate at which different food samples attract insects; it’s the key to unlocking the cafeteria conundrum.

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ at the end of his proclamation. John twists his fingers deeper into the folds of his jumper. 

“Should I go there—“ John peeks around the bark and when the girl looks up, he scrabbles for cover. “She saw me! Sherlock, _she saw me_.”

“'f course she did. You’ve been hov’ring like a lovestruck six-year-old.”

“I _am_ six!” The color rises in John’s cheeks, and he points an accusing finger at his friend. “And you’re four! I’m not in-love—”

“Excuse me.” It’s the little girl from the sandbox, peering up at John, her hands clasped in front of her.

John jumps and scrabbles back, tripping over a stray log and falling on his bum with an embarrassing squeak.

“H—“ He clears his throat. “Hi! Hullo. Good afternoon? Afternoon!”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and takes out his magnifying glass, pushing aside his little coat with a flourish before kneeling in front of the sandwich and shoving his face forward until the tin foil wrapper touches the tip of his nose.

“She heard you from the sandbox, no w'nder, you’ve been shouting your little crush for all the playground t' hear.” He sniffs haughtily and pokes at the wheat bread above a tiny trail of ants congregating on a piece of egg.

“Sherlock!” John’s voice had taken on a higher pitch, acquiring the tone he used when Sherlock spent one afternoon deducing the color, type and size of undergarments of their teachers.

The ants form a line that disappears in the grass. Sherlock crawls on all fours, magnifying glass held up as he follows the trail towards the picnic tables. “I’m busy, John. Go share your bacteria with her somewhere else.”

John glares after Sherlock until a hand sticks out in front of him.

“Hi. My name is Mary.” The little girl tilts her head to one side.

John’s ears flush and he takes Mary’s hand before belatedly realizing that his is full of dirt, and hurriedly lets go to wipe it against his trousers. He pauses and does it again for good measure.

“I’m Mary— I mean hi Mary, I’m Sherlock— No, it’s John. My name is John and that was my friend Sherlock.”

She smiles and moves closer ( _an entire half-inch!_ he notices).

“Hi John.”


End file.
